


Purple

by relmer



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: First Kiss, I love him, M/M, SMH Jack, canon AU, i don’t know all the dialogue and shit, jack is a traitor, mentions of colors and stuff, ooh spot and race’s first meeting, spot is played by anthony zas okay, the rally, they seem to be okay with each other nice, things are slightly changed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 21:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13303518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relmer/pseuds/relmer
Summary: Red and blue have always clashed, always been thrown together. Whether it be in shows, books, or movies, red and blue have always had a history. A history that changed quickly, bonding the two together.The newsboys’ strike of 1899 is what bonded Spot and Racetrack.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> everyone looks like they do in newsies live, but anthony zas is spot!
> 
> things also don’t go as they do in the musical or movie

Red is dark, powerful, and extreme. It’s the color of violence, anger, and physicalness. It’s a harsh color, usually too painful for one’s eyes. It brings up memories of past love, blood, and danger.

Spot Conlon is red.

Blue is light, cold, and slow. It’s the color of calmness, strength, and trust. It’s a soft color, and most people are attracted to it. It brings up memories of watching clouds pass by, water flowing, but also sadness.

Racetrack Higgins is blue.

Red and blue have always clashed, always been thrown together. Whether it be in shows, books, or movies, red and blue have always had a history. A history that changed quickly, bonding the two together.

The newsboys’ strike of 1899 is what bonded Spot and Racetrack.

It all started when Racetrack, a blond boy with a sharp wit and big attitude, decided to cross the Brooklyn bridge and sell in Sheepshead, where no other newsie was currently selling. The leader of Brooklyn at the time, Freddie, didn’t mind. He let the Manhattan newsie sell, and told his newsies to not bother Racetrack. Only a few months later did a new power rise, soon claiming the title of the leader of Brooklyn.

Spot, a brunet that didn’t deal with other people’s bullshit, had fought Freddie and won. He set a few new rules immediately, appointing a new second in command, Stitch.

“What all should I know about the Brooklyn newsies?” he asked them one day. He’d gone from the lowest ranks up to the highest one, not knowing too much about the place.

“They’re all usually itchin’ for a fight. I’m the one that patches ‘em up, hence the name Stitch. And a few have almost gotten into fights with Manhattan.”

“‘Hattan?” Spot frowned, taking in the information. “Why?”

Stitch shrugged. “One of their newsies sells here, in sheepshead. No one else did it before, and Freddie was alright with him.”

“Thanks.”

He sent them away, slipping into deep thought. He’d heard of Manhattan before, and of their leader, Jack Kelly, who was about the same age as Spot. Why a Manhattan newsie would be selling in Brooklyn, though, Spot had no idea. He finally decided that tomorrow would be the day he met the boy.

After buying and then selling the majority of his papers the next day, Spot made his way over to Sheepshead. The closer he got, the less of his own newsies he noticed, and the fashionable outfits quickly turned into more shabbier ones.

When he pushed his way in, he gazed around at the place. Several people didn’t spare him a second glance. Spot figured they were used to the Manhattan newsie being there, so another one wasn’t that big of a surprise.

His eyes soon landed on a tall kid. A vest laid over a blue shirt, curly blond hair was shoved under a newsies cap, and a cigar was in his hand. Spot didn’t recognize him in the slightest, so he figured he was the Manhattan newsie.

Approaching him, Spot appeared quite nonchalant, but also intimidating. “You got a name?”

“What’s it to ya?” the blond spat, his face switching into a smile as an older man bought one of his papers.

“Considerin’ I run this borough, I’d like to know who the ‘Hattan newsie is that’s sellin’ here.”

“Thought Freddie was the leader.”

Spot shook his head. “Not anymore.” He turned fully to the blond and held out a hand. “Spot Conlon.”

“Racetrack Higgins,” the taller of the two said, hesitantly shaking Spot’s hand. “When did you beat Freddie?”

“A few weeks ago. I didn’t kill ‘im; he surrendered.”

Racetrack let out a whistle, called out to a few of the people around them, then glanced at Spot. “You don’t seem like much.”

“If I beat Freddie Reynolds in a fight,” Spot said, “no blades or anything, I’m probably something.”

“Still.”

“And, what, you’re much better?”

Racetrack snorted. “I’m a poker champ, and I usually win the bets around here. I can hold my own in a fight, too.”

“Oh, sure,” Spot baited. “Doubt you’d last a minute.”

“I’ve beaten up the Delancey’s.”

“Don’t know ‘em.”

“Thought so. They act like they’s all high ‘nd mighty.” Racetrack scoffed. “They run at the first sight o’ Smalls. They ain’t nothing.”

The two boys bickered back and forth, both occasionally selling papers. Spot found that he didn’t mind the blond all too much, and that he was an interesting conversation partner. When it was getting close to the time Racetrack should cross the bridge, he sighed.

“Well, I should go. Don’t want Jack worryin’ too much.”

“I’ll walk ya to the bridge,” Spot offered. “I got nothing better to do.”

So they walked, still continuing to chat, but this time they trades stories about the Manhattan and Brooklyn newsies. Racetrack had several of the ones from Manhattan, especially Mush and Blink. He told Spot of all the pranks the pair pulled, including a few on Jack.

The brunet noticed how Racetrack would use his hands while speaking, and how expressive his facial expressions were. His eyes - which seemed to glow even more as they walked - were shining as he talked about the things he liked and his friends.

“They’re all complete idiots, especially Albert, but sometimes they’re somewhat smart,” he said with a grin. “Albert always steals my cigars and blames it on Elmer, Jojo, or Mush.”

“You guys seem to be quite close.”

“A few years of hangin’ around and livin’ with ‘em, you get used to the stupidity.”

Spot snorted. “That’s a big word.”

Racetrack shot him a glare.

– – –

A few weeks after Spot had first met Racetrack, the former decided to go to the sheepshead once or twice a week. They both enjoyed the other’s company, which was extremely rare in two different boroughs.

Spot learned how Racetrack was the second-in-command, holding the same position as a newsie called Crutchie. He also learned that Racetrack never stopped talking, was polite to adults, and could be as stupid as he claimed his friends were.

Racetrack didn’t learn all too much about Spot, except for the fact that the brunet didn’t share a lot. He didn’t mind, instead filling up the silence with his own ramblings. He talked about his cigars, the Manhattan lodging house, and how he was selling since he’d last seen Spot.

“More and more people are comin’ up to me, so I’d guess I’m doing somethin’ right.”

Spot stayed quiet, soaking up information as quickly as he could’ve sent Racetrack back to Manhattan.

– – –

The strike happened almost a year after they met.

Crutchie getting taken happened almost a year after they met.

The newsies’ rally happened exactly a year after they met.

Jack Kelly’s betrayal happened exactly a year after they met.

Racetrack had quickly left the theatre, falling against a wall as he caught his breath. He stared out the ground, wide-eyed in disbelief. His eyes noticed a streak of red and his head snapped up.

“You alright, Race?” Spot asked him.

“He’s a traitor,” Racetrack said. “He said he’d always be there for us, but he’s a damn _liar_ as well.”

They stayed quiet before Spot spoke again. “Do you want to stay in Brooklyn?”

Racetrack let out a laugh. “I’m not ten, Spot. And with Jack gone, I’m now in charge. I can’t leave them by themselves.”

“I’ll meet you back at the theatre tomorrow, so we can discuss things. If Jack deserted fully, then _you’ll_ be the leader of Manhattan.”

Spot left him with those words bouncing in his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowza.

The next morning, Racetrack waited at the theatre for a bit until Spot arrived, the latter having his hands in his pockets. Racetrack was fiddling with his cigar, looking up when he saw red out of the corner of his eye.

“Has he come back yet?”

Racetrack shook his head. “All of his stuff’s gone, so he probably is, too.”

“Well, leader of Manhattan, what are you going to do next?” Spot stared at him curiously, knowing of the boy’s somewhat hidden intelligence.

“I...I have no idea,” Racetrack sighed. “I’ve never dealt with anything like this. Davey said that I’m now the leader, and I made him my second, but I’ve got nothing after that.”

“How is everyone?” Spot asked.

“Scared,” he admitted.

“Are you?”

Racetrack hesitated, then nodded. He honestly was; never before did he even _dream_ of being the leader of Manhattan, especially not this way. He didn’t think of himself as a good leader, since he could be impulsive. The thing with his mother and the cigars was a striking example of it.

“I can help,” Spot offered. “I’ve been the leader for about a year now-“

“It’s been a year,” Racetrack cut him off with a grin.

Spot mirrored it, shaking his head. “You kept track?”

“It was a big day.”

They stayed silent after that, both deep in their thoughts. As they watched people pass, Spot moved to lean against the wall beside Racetrack.

“The first thing you should do it make contact with the other boroughs to remake alliances and stuff.” Spot glanced at the blond. “They all know who you are, and I’m sure you’ve met a few before.”

Racetrack snorted. “Didn’t make you out as someone who talks a lot.”

“That’s your job,” Spot agreed.

“But thank you, Spot. Honestly.” He turned fully towards him. “You’ve done a lot for me this past year.”

“You’re my best friend,” Spot said.

Racetrack could see the sincerity in his eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile. “You’re my best friend, too.”

– – –

It was getting close to ten at night when the Manhattan lodging house door swung open and a familiar newsie came in. Heads snapped to the door, mouths falling open.

“You’re not allowed in here, Jack,” Buttons said. “You abandoned us, and you of all people know the rules.”

Jack nodded, uncomfortable. “I just wanted to talk to...whoever’s the leader. And privately.”

“Is that a request or a demand, Kelly?” Racetrack called, stepping down the stairs. “You’re not in a position to be making demands, especially one of that kind. Like Buttons said, you abandoned us, and without a word to anyone.”

“I’m assuming you took over, then?”

“Not my choice.”

Jack looked at the newsies’ faces gazing up at him. A few were harsh, but some were almost hopeful.

“Could I talk to you, Racetrack?”

After a moment of deciding, the blond nodded and climbed back up the stairs. Jack quickly followed, silent. When they got up to his old penthouse, he let out a sigh of relief.

“If you want to come back,” Racetrack started, “then you’ll be at the lowest rank. No more doing the things you used to. You’ll also have to regain the majority of their trust.”

“‘Their?’”

Racetrack didn’t meet his eyes. “Even though you deserted us, you’re the one who saved my life. The least I can do it allow you back, since we all know you’d die out there.”

“Thank you,” Jack said. “And it looks like you’ve been hanging out around Spot.”

“He’s been helping me,” the blond admitted. “Now, the strike. What should we do?”

“If you’ll let me suggest things, I say we also get Davey up here. He’s got smarts about these things. From there...no idea.” Jack met Racetrack’s eyes, both boys holding back a grin.

“What’re we waiting for?”

After talking with Davey, the trio decided what to do. Jack would get Katherine, the reporter that helped them get to the front page, and a paper would be made. They’d then send it out to everyone in New York, and stop the city.

“One of your drawings could also work, Jack,” Racetrack suggested. “Of the Refuge.”

“It definitely could,” Davey agreed.

Jack’s face flushed. “They’re not _that_ good-“

“New rule. Jack isn’t allowed to complain about his drawings,” Racetrack said with a grin.

“I second that!” Davey said.

– – –

When the time came where Jack and Davey would go to Pulitzer’s office to show him their paper, Spot went with them and Racetrack went with a few other newsies. The latter group started to sing at one point, not giving up as they stayed outside of _The World._ Spot waved at them and they returned it, all grinning. That’s when Racetrack knew their plan was working.

After a few minutes, Davey and Spot came out of the building. The newsies surrounded them, rapidly asking questions.

“Hey!” Racetrack yelled as he made his way next to them. “Let ‘em speak!”

They quieted, all looking at the pair. Spot raised an eyebrow at Davey, who spoke.

“Jack’s talking alone with Pulitzer, but I think he’ll be able to convince him-“

“Kelly’s a traitor!” someone shouted.

“Shut up!” Racetrack snapped. “He left for one day, then came back and immediately continued to help.”

“And he gave back the money,” Spot added.

Davey nodded. “As I was saying, Jack has a good chance in convincing Pulitzer to lower the prices. He has a way with words.”

Just as he finished, the doors of _The World_ swung open. Out stepped Jack, Medda, the governor, and Pulitzer.

“Newsies of New York,” Jack started, pausing for effect. _“We won!”_

The newsies immediately erupted into cheers, pulling each other close in hugs. Racetrack had turned to Spot, hugging the latter tightly. The brunet hugged back, only letting go when the governor spoke.

Spot and Racetrack continued to stay by each other’s side, Racetrack hugging Jack and Davey when everyone had started talking to each other again.

“It worked!” he yelled over the commotion.

“Jack!” Romeo shouted. “Look!”

He was pointing to where a boy was coming closer with a huge grin, aided by a crutch.

“Crutchie!” Finch said.

“Heya fellas! Ya miss me?” Crutchie said, grin widening. “I brought you all a gift, straight from the Refuge!”

A few feet away, two policemen were standing on either side of Snyder. The man looked like he’d put up a fight, glaring at the newsies around him. The governor announced to them all that the Refuge, and other places like it, were officially shut down. The policemen took him away, Crutchie being able to put the handcuffs on him and hitting him with his crutch.

As newsies followed the policemen and Snyder, the area in front of _The World_ became mostly empty, save for a few newsies. Racetrack stood to the side, thankful that their plan had worked.

Spot approached him, taking hold of the blond’s arm without a word and tugging him away and into an alley.

“Spot, what-“

He stopped as he was pushed against a wall of the alley and Spot’s lips were on his. The kiss was rough, one of Spot’s hands on Racetrack’s waist and the other tugging on his hair. Racetrack’s arms were wrapped around Spot’s neck, keeping him close.

Racetrack felt himself being pushed closer to the wall, Spot pressing himself close to the blond. Spot took over the kiss, pulling away after some time. Both boys stared at each other, eyes wide and breathing hard.

“Damn,” Racetrack said.

Spot let out a soft laugh. “Couldn’t help it. You look extra pretty today.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Racetrack asked, face flushed.

“Extremely.”

Racetrack kissed Spot softly and for a few seconds. “You’re pretty, too. Especially your birthmarks.”

His hand cupped Spot’s faces, running a finger over the said marks. The brunet leaned into the hand, closing his eyes.

“I’m glad I met you,” Spot quietly confessed.

“So am I.”

And with that, their lives had changed forever all due to Spot’s simple choice. The Brooklyn and Manhattan newsies became closer than ever before. Red was calmed by blue, and blue was energized by red.

Together, red and blue, Spot Conlon and Racetrack Higgins, created purple.


End file.
